The conversation went back and forth amongst them, daylight through a grate high in the wall slanting and fading to darkness. They spoke of Calidus, Ektor telling them of the giant scrolls and the hints they gave about the God-War, about Kadoshim and Ben-Elim, prophecies of fabled Drassil and the Seven Treasures.

‘Drassil. That is why they are here,’ Fidele said. ‘That is why they are tearing down trees and building roads through this forest. They are searching for it.’

Maquin heard something, a grunt, maybe. Then the key in the corridor’s door. It creaked open, footsteps, then Alben’s face was looking into their cells. He held the ring of keys in one hand, an array of swords under his other arm.

‘I found these in the guardroom,’ he said with a nod of his head. ‘Thought you might be needing them.’

He was greeted with a chorus of thanks.

‘We must be quick,’ Alben said, trying keys in Peritus’ door, the first not fitting, nor the second. The third did, the door opening with a click. The ageing battlechief stepped out and slid his sword into his scabbard.

‘Why are you doing this?’ Ektor asked from his cell. ‘With an apology we would most likely be forgiven in the morning. Now we will be fugitives.’

‘If that is so then why are gallows being built in the courtyard?’

There was a stunned silence at that.

‘That cannot be,’ Ektor breathed.

‘You’re welcome to stay in here and see,’ Alben said, ‘but I’d advise you to come with us.’ With another click Ektor’s door swung open.

‘I do not know what you did to fall so far from favour,’ Alben continued as he moved to Maquin’s cell, ‘but something is happening here.’ Alben tried keys in Maquin’s lock. ‘It is the middle of the night and warriors are mobilizing, thousands of them. Nathair’s warband are already beginning to march across the river.’

‘I named Calidus as being Kadoshim,’ Fidele said.

Maquin expected a shocked response from Alben.

The silver-haired healer paused with the keys and looked at Fidele. ‘Did you?’

‘I did. Please, Alben, before you call me mad, listen to—’

‘I believe you,’ Alben said.

‘What? How?’ Fidele stuttered.

‘I am a friend to Meical,’ he said. ‘I have been waiting for this day for many years. The sides have formed, the line is drawn. The time to act is here.’

There was a thud behind him – Peritus falling to the floor. Alben spun around, the sword aimed for his head stabbing him between the shoulder and chest, blood erupting. He slid to the ground, Ektor tugging the blade free, standing over Alben, blood-spattered and breathing heavily.